The Hidden Boy of Alcatraz
by xXxAngel-With-A-ShotgunxXx
Summary: After eight years in the infamous prison, Alcatraz, Ponyboy finally comes home. Thirteen years old and no longer the little five year old boy who was kidnapped, the family must learn to live together once again. But can Ponyboy really give up the life he's lead?
1. The Boy and the Reunion

**The Hidden Boy of Alcatraz**

**0. Prelude: The Boy and the Reunion**

_After months of digging through concrete and stealing supplies to make a raft, four convicts placed dummy masks in their beds and on June 11th, 1962, broke "the Rock". Three of these convicts were never seen again. Alcatraz was known as the toughest prison in the United States and its most stunning escape attempt would become one of the most enduring mysteries of the twentieth century._

_However, this all dwarfed in comparison to what was discovered in 1963, as the officers made a routine round in the infamous prison._

_On March 1st, 1963, a young boy was found in the vent system of Alcatraz. All of the convicts, and the boy himself, claimed that he had been there for over eight years. Soon enough, that would be proven to be true and the boy would be reunited with his family after almost a decade apart. It wouldn't be for a few more years that anyone among law enforcement would even think to ask the boy what he knew about the most well-known escape attempt on Alcatraz._

_By that time, it would have been five years since the boy had been anywhere near Alcatraz, or even the State of California._

_The boy's name?_

_Ponyboy Curtis._

-x-x-x-x-x-

**March 12th, 1963**

Mr. and Mrs. Curtis - Darrel and Anne - smiled at their sons; two biological and six others that they considered theirs. They liked to have them all over, especially during the weekends, so that none of them were out and getting into trouble. All of them were too young to be out drinking - not that it stopped some of them - and fighting, but they knew better than to tell them that, or demand for them to stop. The only thing that they did was keep their door unlocked and make sure that they all knew they were welcome to come around at anytime, whether for dinner, or for a place to stay, or just a place to relax for a while.

Their eldest son, Darrel Curtis, was named after his father and usually only answered to the nickname he'd been given; Darry. He was practically an identical clone of his father, was six feet tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. His hair was dark brown and kicked out in the front, while having a slight cowlick at the back. His eyes were a pale blue-green. He was sixteen, though he could often pass for older if someone didn't know how old he was.

Their second son, Sodapop Curtis, was a very handsome boy. He wasn't as tall as his brother, especially considering that he was just thirteen-years-old, and was a little slimmer. He had long, silky and straight dark-gold hair that he always kept combed back and the summer sun bleached it to a shining wheat-gold. He had dark brown eyes, which were exactly like his father's eyes. He was an energetic boy and couldn't sit still for long, but he was always willing to listen to someone who wanted to talk and he could understand everybody. Or, at the very least, give them good advice.

Then, there were the boys that they considered their sons in all but blood.

Steve Randle was only a few months older than Sodapop. He was tall for his age, lean and had thick greasy hair that he always made sure to keep combed in complicated swirls. He was cocky, smart and had been Soda's best buddy since they were very young children. He had the potential to be the best mechanic in Tulsa once he finished school because, even at his current age, he knew cars like the back of his hand.

Two-Bit Matthews was the oldest of them, but younger than Darry. He was stocky in build and had long rusty-coloured sideburns that he was extremely proud of. He had grey eyes, never failed to have a grin on his face and couldn't stop making funny remarks to save his life. The fact that nothing seemed to shut him up was how he got his nickname: Two-Bit. No one bothered to call him by his real name, Keith, and hardly anyone even remembered that he had one.

Dallas Winston wasn't the usual kind of boy who Mr. and Mrs. Curtis allowed into their home. However, they'd known him since he was a young boy, before he moved to New York with his parents and when he moved back to Tulsa just a while back. His hair was so blonde that it almost looked white. He didn't like haircuts, so it fell over his forehead in wisps, kicked out in the back in tufts and curled behind his ears, as well as the nape of his neck. His eyes were an icy blue, which were cold with hatred. He had a rather bad reputation down at the police station. He had a rather large file and had been arrested a lot, but Mrs. Curtis was always there when he got out, just offering a warm bed and a homemade meal.

Johnny Cade was a few months younger than Sodapop, but a lot of people had often thought that he was younger. When Mrs. Curtis looked at him, she saw a small dark puppy who had been kicked too many times and could easily get lost in a crowd of strangers. He was small for his age, but had a good build. His eyes were big and black, on a dark tanned face. He had jet-black hair, which was heavily greased and combed to the side, but it was long enough to fall in shaggy bangs across his forehead. Mrs. Curtis' heart clenched when she thought about that nervous, suspicious look in his eyes that was ever-present. His father was always abusing him and his mother ignored him, except when she was hacked off. When that happened, the yelling could be heard streets away. If Johnny hadn't had a place to come to, he would've run away a long time ago.

Watching them now, Mrs. Curtis was smiling as they all played cards, with two of their friends; Tim and Curly Shepard.

Tim was a lean, cat-like teenager. He had curly black hair, smoldering dark eyes and a long scar that ran from his temple to his chin. Mrs. Curtis had never asked how he had gotten it, because she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Curly was a miniature Tim Shepard and was still trying to find out who he was, separate from his brother.

"Hey!" Curly yelled, seeing Soda hide a few cards up his sleeves as he dealt the cards. "No cheating, Soda!"

Watching the boys throw their cards down and demand new ones, Anne felt her smile fade slightly. Seeing them all having so much fun, made her remember her other child. The one she'd lost over eight years ago; Sodapop's younger twin brother, Ponyboy.

Ponyboy didn't look exactly like his twin brother, as he'd had red-brown hair and green eyes. While Soda had always wanted to run around and play football, Ponyboy had preferred sitting in the shade, either drawing or reading a book. Soda had always been a daddy's boy, but Ponyboy had been a mommy's boy and Anne mourned the loss of the one child that she had been extraordinarily close to - her youngest, her baby. She thought about him every day, always expecting to go into Soda's room and see Ponyboy in the other bed, but her wishes had always remained unfulfilled.

As Darrel moved in to be the peacemaker and deal the cards himself, so that there was no cheating, Anne's attention was drawn elsewhere. Outside the house, a police car pulled up and two uniformed officers got out, before walking up to the front door. Anne's heart began pounding in her chest. No one else had noticed the two officers and, ever since Ponyboy's disappearance, any cop had been bad news to her. Five times over the last eight years, the cops had come by saying that the body of a young boy had been found and, every time, she had broken down, sure that her son was dead.

It had never been him.

A knock on the door made the conversation in the front room halt. Through sheer will power alone, Anne got up and answered the door.

"Officers," she greeted, barely able to keep her voice steady. "How can I help you?"

She recognized the both of them. Officer Brady and Officer Williamson had both been rookies around the time of Ponyboy's disappearance. They were the only two officers in the entirety of the TPD who had never given up hope of finding Ponyboy alive.

Officer Brady smiled, slightly. "Mrs. Curtis, may we come in? We have some news."

Moving aside, Anne closed the door behind them. Darrel came up behind his wife and placed a hand on her shoulder, knowing instinctively that anything else would cause her to lose what little composure she had.

"Has something happened?" Darrel asked, silently sending a look to all of the boys, letting them know to stay quiet.

"Have you heard of Alcatraz, Mr. Curtis?" Officer Williamson asked.

Darrel nodded. "Yes, I have. It's the prison in San Francisco, right? Isn't it shutting down?"

Officer Brady nodded. "It is. However, about a week ago, one of the inmates alerted the officers to something that they hadn't known about. For the past eight years, a young boy has been living in the vents of the federal prison. Once the officers managed to get him out, he told them his name." He looked directly at Anne as he spoke. "It's Ponyboy. He's alive."

Without any warning, Anne's legs just gave out from beneath her and she began sobbing. Darrel just managed to catch her before she hit the floor and guided her to the couch. Putting an arm around his wife, Darrel looked at the two officers.

"Are you sure it's him?" Darrel asked.

Officer Williamson nodded. "His fingerprints and blood type have been matched to the last ones on record. He is definitely your son."

"I want to see him," Anne cried, looking at the two officers with tear filled eyes. "I want to see my baby."

Sodapop, who had been quiet until now, walked over to his parents. He sat down next to his mother and hugged her tightly, as she became mumbling that her baby had been found and that he was finally coming home. He didn't know what to think. He was in shock. His brother was alive?

Darry stood next to his father, thinking the same thoughts as Sodapop.

Officer Brady nodded. "The doctors at Tulsa General have been keeping an eye on him as we waited for the fingerprint and blood analysis' to come back. He's waiting there for you now."

Anne stood up on shaky legs but, as she spoke, her voice was determined. "Let's go."

-x-x-x-x-x-

As they walked over to an observation window in the hospital, Anne kept a firm grip on her husband's arm, as if it were a lifeline. Sodapop and Darry followed behind them.

"Shit, Darry," Soda whispered. "I have butterflies in my stomach."

Darry didn't say anything. His hands were pushed deep down into the pockets of his jeans, in order to keep them from shaking. What if the police were wrong? What if the results got mixed up? What if it wasn't him?

As they moved in front of the observation window, they all saw a young boy sitting in front of another window in the room, one that overlooked absolutely nothing. Only the moon as the stars showed in the window and, as she watched, Anne thought, _The moon and the stars. He's looking at the moon and the stars_.

The boy had their back to them, so they could only see his red-brown hair which was shaggy.

Steve moved up behind Sodapop and put a comforting hand on his best friend's shoulder. Dally, Johnny, Two-Bit, Tim and Curly hung back a bit, feeling like they were intruding on a private moment. However, the Curtis' had wanted them to be there, so they came.

"Curtis family?"

A doctor approached them, holding a clipboard. It was the doctor that treated Soda and Darry whenever they came in.

"Yes," Anne replied, not looking away from the window. "How is he, Doctor Livingston?"

Doctor Livingston hesitated. "Anne, I'm -"

"Please!" Anne begged. "I need to know what's going on with my son."

Doctor Livingston sighed and turned to look through the observation window. "About forty percent of his body is covered in scar tissue and our x-rays show at least eighteen fractures that have never properly healed. He's malnourished and short for his age. He has a few tattoos that he obviously got whilst in the prison. The reason that the lights have been dimmed in the room is because his eyesight has been irreparably damaged. The lack of light in the vents has forced him to grow up in almost complete darkness and he has very little tolerance to any light above what he's got right now, without the aid of special sunglasses, which are currently being made for him. We've been giving him fluids and a special diet plan has been made for him, so that his body can get used to a proper eating schedule."

"Has he said anything?" Anne asked.

Doctor Livingston shook his head. "Very little. He says what we need to hear, but not much else. Anne ... I need you to prepare yourself; Ponyboy is very different from the five-year-old he used to be."

Anne couldn't wait any longer. Leaving her husband and two other sons behind her, she opened the door to the room and stepped in. As she walked inside a few steps, she faintly heard the door close behind her, but her entire being was focused on the son that she hadn't seen in years.

"Ponyboy?"

As the boy tensed, Anne remembered something her mother once told her, _A child never forgets the sound of his mother's voice_.

For a long second it was quiet and then the boy turned around, slowly. His red-brown hair hung into his green eyes and, as he stood up from the chair, his footsteps were completely silent. He moved almost like an animal caught in a trap - just like the more dangerous hoods and JDs in Tulsa - and he was small and lithe, just like some kind of big cat. However, it was the unmistakable resemblance to Sodapop that brought tears to her eyes and she had to cover her mouth with her hand, in order to try and prevent herself from making any noise.

His eyes scanned her up and down, almost like he was looking down into her very soul. She almost sobbed when she realized that he was scanning her for any hidden threats. What had happened to her baby boy?

When he finally spoke, she lost any and all composure that she had. "Mom?"

Breaking down, she brought her son into her embrace for the first time in over eight years and hugged him tightly, all the while, saying, "You're home."

* * *

**Author's Note****:- Hi! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please let me know what you think and review. I want to see if anyone actually likes this idea. The updates for this story won't be regular. The rating is currently T, but that might change later on in the story. I'll put a warning in, if that happens.**

**Disclaimer****:- I do not own the Outsiders.**


	2. Settling In

**The Hidden Boy of Alcatraz**

**2. Settling In**

**March 12th, 1963**

Sodapop sat on his bed, watching Ponyboy walk around the bedroom. Anne, Darrel and Darry stood in the doorway, with their eyes also on Ponyboy. Everyone else had gone home, saying that they should spend the first night together as a family. However, after they'd all left, none of them had known what to do. Sodapop had managed to ask Ponyboy if he'd wanted to see their bedroom, Ponyboy had nodded and they'd headed in there without any fuss.

Soda couldn't help but take in every detail of Ponyboy, like he was going to vanish right in front of his eyes. His last memory of his twin brother had been from when they were five and, now, he couldn't help but compare how he remembered Ponyboy, to what Ponyboy looked like now.

The doctors had warned them that Pony would be extremely sensitive to sunlight and that he had to cover up, or risk being severely burned, no matter if the weather didn't seem too bad. They'd been given some special sun cream, that Ponyboy had to use on any bare skin that wasn't covered with his clothes. The doctors had also warned them that it would take a long time for Ponyboy to get used to the climate in Tulsa, considering that San Francisco was not a warm place.

Ponyboy seemed to run his hands over everything in the room, as if trying to recognize or remember something: the walls, the desk, the books on the shelves and in the bookcase. Ponyboy picked up a couple of the books, looking over the titles and the descriptions of them.

"You were always readin'," Soda said, breaking the silence. "Over the years, I just began bringin' all the books in here. I tried to read a few, but I never had the patience for it. Did you ... did you read there?"

Ponyboy nodded, placed the books back onto the shelf and faced Sodapop. "Sometimes, the inmates would sneak me magazines and books. I managed to get some from the library, as well, but I always returned them."

It was silent for a while after that.

"Maybe we should go to bed," Anne recommended. "It's been a long day and I'm sure that we all need sleep."

She wished all of her sons good night, giving each of them a hug. Though she only hugged Ponyboy lightly and quickly - because of how tense he was when she did - she also gave him a kiss on the forehead, before leaving the room, looking back at Ponyboy, before closing the door behind her.

After their parents left, Darry joined Soda on the bed and Ponyboy sat down on his own.

"Do you want some clothes to sleep in?" Soda asked.

Ponyboy looked at him for a long moment, his expression blank, before he shook his head. "It's too hot."

That was when Darry and Soda noticed the sheen of perspiration that covered Ponyboy. His shirt had even begun to show sweat stains, though only light ones.

"Just sleep in your underwear, if you need to," Soda told him, before getting his own pyjamas out of the closet and getting changed.

Not too long after that, Darry went into his room after wishing them both good night. The twins were left alone in their room, just staring at each other. It was Sodapop who broke the silence.

"I really missed you, Pony," Soda whispered.

Ponyboy didn't say anything, but Soda could see the slight smile on his lips. There wasn't a need for any heartfelt words between them; that would just seem too fake. It had been over eight years since they'd seen each other and they had to relearn how to be brothers. Sodapop had a feeling that it wouldn't be easy, but he wouldn't give up. Ponyboy was home and that was the way it had to stay.

Ponyboy stood up and took off his shirt. As soon as he did, Sodapop couldn't hold back his gasp. Ponyboy's entire torso and his arms were completely covered in burn marks and scars - some white and some red. The burn marks looked like they came from cigarettes, but Soda had no idea how he could've gotten the scars. As Ponyboy took all of his clothes off, except for his boxers, Soda saw another long scar running up his right thigh. On the back of Ponyboy's right shoulder was a tattoo. The word ALCATRAZ was written under what appeared to be the island and the prison on it. It seemed to be extremely detailed. On the front of his right shoulder were four stars. They were all the same size, but these weren't tattoos. These looked to be a multiple branding, or some kind of scarification. Soda only knew about it because of what Dally had told him about a couple of the more hardcore gangs in New York having to show their loyalty by branding themselves with the gangs name.

"How ... ?" Soda trailed off, before clearing his throat and continuing. "How did you get those?"

Ponyboy didn't hesitate to tell him and that was how Soda knew that he was proud of everything he had. "I got the tattoo and the brandin' in prison, years ago. The cigarette burns are from games of chicken, testing to see who hollered first." Ponyboy's hands began running over the scars that Soda hadn't been able to identify. "There were a lot of rats in the vents and they didn't always leave me alone."

Soda didn't know what to say to that. Not too long after that, they both settled down for the night and went to sleep. All night long, Soda had nightmares of being bitten by rats.

-x-x-x-x-x-

**March 13th, 1963**

It was dawn and Ponyboy was sitting up in his bed, staring at his sleeping brother from across the room. He'd gotten dressed in his clothes again, not too long after waking up. He'd gotten about five hours of sleep before waking up and remaining that way for the rest of the night. Back in Alcatraz, he had usually gotten five to seven hours of sleep a night, depending on how the night was. Sometimes, he went a couple of days without sleep, because the weather around the island wouldn't allow him any rest. The vents carried the sound, but he'd gotten used to it over the years. It was thanks to the echoing that he'd always known the rats had been approaching him.

It was too quiet here ... and far too hot.

Standing up, Ponyboy walked towards the bedroom door, before opening it and stepping out into the hall. He walked to the bathroom and took care of his business, before washing his hands and stepping back out into the hall. All the while he couldn't help but marvel at the fact that he could now use a real toilet and wash himself in an actual shower, instead of just the salt water that sometimes made its way into the lower parts of the vents, nearer to sea level. He couldn't help but wonder what hot water felt like.

Entering the living room, Ponyboy looked around and took everything in. He had a good memory and remembered exactly where everything was; this had come about from seeing the precision in the cells and having to remember messages, when he carried them from one prisoner to the next. This place felt too strange. He had vague memories from his childhood, but it had always felt like it was of another life.

Ponyboy was happy to be home and to be with his family again, but it felt too strange and he couldn't help but miss Alcatraz. For over eight years, the island prison had been his home - a place he had felt safe. He knew it was a strange thought from other people's perspectives, but he couldn't help it. He'd grown up there. He was used to it - to the prison power struggles, to the violence, to the swearing ... He was used to it all.

Ponyboy turned his head as he heard a sound come from the kitchen. Quickly walking to the kitchen doorway, Ponyboy was thankful that the kitchen light wasn't on, because that would've been too much for his sensitive vision. He saw his mother making herself a coffee and, after she did, she put the fan on that was beside her.

"Does that help?" Ponyboy asked.

Anne turned around and faced her youngest son, gripping her coffee cup as she took in the fact that yesterday hadn't just been a dream.

"Ponyboy ..." she breathed, before shaking her head and gathering her bearings. "I always have a coffee every morning, because it helps wake me up. The fan, on the other hand, is because of the heat. How are you? The doctor said you'd find it hard."

There were so many other questions that she wanted to ask him, but she had to hold back. She'd been warned by therapists and psychologists not to overwhelm him. He'd talk when he was ready.

Ponyboy shrugged. "The doctor also said I'd get used to it eventually. It's just a matter of waitin' it out. Can I have some water, though?"

Anne nodded and immediately got him a glass of water. They both sat down at the kitchen table and drank their drinks in a comfortable silence. Ponyboy had his left hand on the table and Anne had her right hand over his. If this was all Ponyboy could comfortably handle when it came to physical touch, then she'd take it. This wasn't about her; this was about Ponyboy.

She finally had her baby back and he was here to stay.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The news that morning was full of Ponyboy Curtis. It was the biggest news in the entirety of the United States. The President, John Kennedy, was due to make a speech on Ponyboy's recovery later that day, as well as a speech about the future of prison security. The public was in uproar. The fact that a young boy had been allowed to live in such conditions for over eight years without discovery lead to a lot of questions and theories. No one could understand how the most secure prison in the United States could house a growing boy with the officers and guards none the wiser.

The news showed the old pictures of Ponyboy, from when he was five, but no new pictures had currently been taken.

Anne Curtis had never been one to truly believe that humans could be so deliberately cruel, until her youngest son had been kidnapped. People that she hadn't even known had accused herself and Darrel of killing Ponyboy and hiding his body, before staging a kidnap. Once the two of them had been cleared of that charge, Darry and Soda had been taken away from them for a while, because people thought they were unfit parents after not keeping a better eye on Ponyboy.

The first two years after Ponyboy's kidnap had been the worst for them as a family ... but they'd survived it. It had made them stronger and more close-knit in the end.

Now, they had to relearn to be a family again ... and that would take time.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Darry and Soda didn't go to school that day. Anne and Darrel hadn't even woken them up in time. Ponyboy had already had a light breakfast by the time the two of them woke up. However, even though he'd eaten, Ponyboy still sat at the table with them as they ate. They made light conversation - work, school and other things - all through breakfast.

Ponyboy never mentioned Alcatraz and they never asked. Although, it was clear to Darrel, Anne and Darry that Ponyboy and Sodapop may have spoken about it at some point during the night. Whenever one of Ponyboy's sleeves rode up, revealing a couple of scars, Soda's eyes would be drawn to that spot and linger, almost like he knew something.

Darry was interested in the scars, but had a feeling that pushing the issue would be a bad idea. Anne and Darrel were just pleased that Ponyboy had said something to someone, even if it wasn't them. They weren't surprised that the first person Ponyboy spoke to was Soda and were happy at the possibility of the twins building up a strong connection, like they'd once had.

Steve and Johnny came round after school for a few hours and told them that Dally, Tim and Curly were spreading the word around Tulsa that the news about Ponyboy was right for a change. While they were round, Ponyboy barely said more than a few words to them, but that was understandable. In fact, Soda and Anne were the only ones that Ponyboy really spoke to. Even Darrel and Darry couldn't get him to say more than a few words.

The day passed by quickly for everyone and it was soon time to go back to bed. That night, Ponyboy actually initiated a hug with his mother, before wishing his father and Darry good night. The family couldn't help feeling hopeful that things would get better.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Ponyboy's eyes were wide open, even though it was past midnight. He couldn't sleep because of the heat; he was sweating like a pig.

Getting up, Ponyboy walked out of his shared room with Soda and into the living room. He'd been waiting for the chance to be alone all day. Before being reunited with his family, he'd already realized that he couldn't live a normal life. He'd felt more free in prison, than he had ever since he'd been found.

Picking up the phone, Ponyboy dialled the number that he'd been given after making a phone call when he'd alluded his guard in the hospital - they still hadn't found out that he'd gotten away from them and hadn't even realized he'd been gone. Listening to the dial tone and then the ringing, Ponyboy waited patiently, knowing that this person would pick up.

_"Hello?"_

"It's me."

It was silent for a second. _"I never thought I'd hear your voice through a phone. I guess the news is true."_

"There's a first time for everythin'," Ponyboy snarled, not being ignorant of the way his family had been treated in the years following his kidnap. "I ain't callin' you for a cosy catch-up."

_"I figured. It's always business with you, ain't it?"_

"You know why I need it," Ponyboy told him, "and you benefit from this, as well, don't you?"

It was silent for a moment. _"I've got the information. You'll make sure it gets to the appropriate sources?"_

"What do you take me for?" Ponyboy asked. "Of course I will."

_"Okay. Here it is ..."_

As the information for delivered straight into his ear, Ponyboy began smirking. Oh, he would get this information to the appropriate source and, from there, it would only be a matter of time before he had what he wanted. Everything was falling into place.

* * *

**Author's Note****:- I wish to thank everyone who reviewed, has put this story on your favourites list and is following this story. Your support means a lot. :) Please let me know what you think of this chapter.**

**Enjoy!**


	3. Questions and Answers

**The Hidden Boy of Alcatraz**

**3. Questions and Answers**

**April 13th, 1963**

It had been a month since Ponyboy had returned home and everyone had settled into a routine. During the week, Ponyboy would go to the diner where his mother worked and spend her shifts there, under her watchful eye, while Darrel was at work, and Darry and Soda were at school. Since Anne didn't work on the weekends, she watched Ponyboy in the house on those days. However, since Darry, Soda and their friends could also come round the house on those days, it made it easier.

Out of his family, Ponyboy was closest to Sodapop. Unbeknownst to their family, they would spend hours speaking to each other every night. Most of the time, they'd talk about what their lives were like growing up. Ponyboy was interested in hearing what it was like for Soda - hearing what regular life was like. Ponyboy never mentioned his kidnapper, or anything important that happened at Alcatraz; he just spoke about the small things, like the cold weather, how claustrophobic he felt in the vents sometimes, and other small things. Soda never asked about the more serious parts of Alcatraz, such as the fights for power and the pecking order. He didn't ask where Ponyboy had stood in that order. He knew that if Ponyboy wanted to share that part of Alcatraz with him, then he would. However, he wouldn't force his brother to tell him.

Ponyboy and Darry didn't really speak much. Darry had football practice a lot and Ponyboy just didn't really feel a connection to his older brother. Darry was the kind of brother who kept an eye on his younger siblings whenever he was home, which irked Ponyboy something fierce and caused tension between the two of them.

Since Steve spent a lot of time around Soda, he also spent a fair bit of time around Ponyboy. No one could say that they were friends, exactly. Ponyboy was interested in the fact that Steve knew so much about cars, so Steve would sit there and talk to Ponyboy about cars for hours at a time, and how he was hoping to get a job at the DX gasoline station as soon as he turned sixteen. Ponyboy began reading car magazines and became interested about car mechanics, which Steve began to teach him.

Two-Bit and Johnny didn't have the best relationship with Ponyboy. Johnny shied away from him, afraid of the cold and hard look in his eyes, while Two-Bit watched him carefully. Ponyboy didn't understand Two-Bit's humour, either, though he got the dirtier jokes. He found those funny but, other than that, they barely spoke.

Dally, Tim and Curly probably had the best relationship with Ponyboy besides Sodapop. This was soly based on the fact that they were JDs and hoods, and had been in juvie. Ponyboy was amused at the fact that they bragged about being in juvie for days, weeks or months at a time, while he'd been behind bars for over eight years. The three of them were people he could truly understand.

And Ponyboy began to settle. Or so they thought.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Ponyboy was sitting by the window, in the booth in the diner. Soda was next to him, with Steve next to Soda. Dally, Johnny and Two-Bit were opposite from them. Darry had a weekend football practice. Anne had been asked to work, even though it was the weekend, because another worker had called in sick.

Pushing his food around his plate, Ponyboy inwardly seethed at the fact that he was back in the diner, during the _weekend_.

"You're goin' to burn holes in the table, in a minute," Soda commented, before eating a sausage. "Go easy on her, Pony. You know why she does it."

Soda always knew what he was thinking - most of the time. And, evidently, it didn't matter that Ponyboy was wearing sunglasses, because Soda still knew that he was glaring at the table.

"I know," Ponyboy snapped. "Although, for the record, let it be said that I felt _freer_ in _prison_."

Soda flinched slightly, but he knew where Ponyboy was coming from. For a boy who had been raised by convicts - some of the hardest criminals in America - this was an entirely new situation for him. Ponyboy just didn't understand why his parents kept such a close eye on him. Sodapop had expected some issues, but it was becoming evident just how many issues there were. Ponyboy hadn't been stunted intellectually. He could hold a conversation about crime rates, politics and so many other things with the best of them. He was stunted emotionally. He didn't know how to connect to people.

Ponyboy had noticed that Johnny was abused at home within a few days and, though he didn't say anything at the time, later that night he'd asked Sodapop about it. He couldn't understand why Johnny cared about his parents. He couldn't understand why Johnny didn't fight back, or run away.

Ponyboy understood business deals. He understood harder and harsher realities of life. He didn't understand love and affection. Even now, Sodapop knew that Ponyboy would never marry and would never allow himself to be tied down. He'd never love a girl and would only ever look at one, or be with one, for some kind of physical release - or pure, plain sexual relations.

The relationship that Sodapop had with Ponyboy now was probably the best he could ever hope for it to be. Sometimes, even the toughest, hardest criminal needed a confidant and that's what he was. Soda wasn't unhappy; he was pleased that he had a relationship with Ponyboy, at all. Sometimes, he thought about what could have been, but he didn't let himself dwell. Life was too short for that.

He had his brother back and that was all that mattered.

"Ponyboy Curtis?"

Everyone turned and found two men standing at the end of their table. They both held up FBI badges. Anne and Darrel were next to them, neither of them looking happy. Both of the agents were white. One of them looked to be in his late forties, while the other was possibly in his late sixties.

"I'm Agent Anderson," the younger man introduced himself, "and this is Agent Davidson. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"I'd rather you left," Anne snapped.

"Anne," Darrel chided.

"It's fine, mom," Ponyboy cut in, as his mother had opened her mouth again. He turned to the FBI Agents. "What do you want to know?"

The two agents looked at each other for a second, before turning back to face Ponyboy.

"We've hit a lot of dead ends," Agent Davidson told Ponyboy. "We need to know what you remember about the man who kidnapped you."

Everything went utterly silent. It was lucky that there were very few people in the diner that day. All of the customers, except for them, had left and Tim and Curly Shepard had only just walked in to see the FBI Agents there.

Ponyboy looked at them for a long moment, before turning back to his breakfast. "I don't remember."

Darrel's hard grip on Anne kept her from saying anything after this.

Agent Anderson looked at Ponyboy carefully. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

"You know," Agent Anderson said, slowly, "when I was four, my father died. He had a stroke while he was working on the roof. He fell off and split his skull in two. I still remember all the blood. I remember my mother's screams. I remember the days following. That was when I was four. Ponyboy, I know you remember. Who kidnapped you? How did they get you to Alcatraz?"

Ponyboy was quiet, just looking down at his plate. "I know what you're thinkin'. I heard the agents talkin' while I was in the hospital. It wasn't one of the cons."

"Then who was it?" Agent Davidson asked.

Ponyboy shook his head and didn't answer.

"Where is he, Ponyboy?" Agent Anderson asked, trying a different tactic.

"I don't know," Ponyboy replied. "I haven't seen the bastard since I was ten."

Eyes popped wide in shock at that.

"What?"

Ponyboy looked at the two agents. "He left Alcatraz when I was ten. I haven't seen him since and I don't want to. He can rot in hell, for all I care."

The two agents were shocked at this. In long-standing kidnapping cases, you sometimes find that the children have grown attached to their abductors - like they'd been brainwashed to believe that their kidnappers actually cared about them. To hear that Ponyboy hated his kidnapper was relieving and confusing. Why wouldn't he tell them about him, if he hated him?

"If you hate him," Agent Davidson said, slowly, "why won't you tell us about him?"

For a long time, Ponyboy was quiet. "I think you should leave."

The agents took the hint. They weren't going to get anything out of him today. Giving him a card with both of their phone numbers on it - for home and the office - they walked outside, to where the police officer who had escorted them to the diner was waiting.

As they got into the car, they didn't see the officer look into the diner and straight into the eyes of Ponyboy Curtis, who kept his expression blank.

_"He left Alcatraz when I was ten. I haven't seen him since and I don't want to. He can rot in hell, for all I care."_

They were apt words for a boy staring straight into the eyes of the man who had kidnapped him all those years ago.

* * *

**Author's Note****:- I know that this chapter is shorter than the last two, but this is where I feel that it's best to end this chapter. I promise you that the next one will be longer. Please, let me know what you think of this chapter!**

**Enjoy!**


	4. Secrets and Revelations

**The Hidden Boy of Alcatraz**

**4. Secrets and Revelations**

**June 10th, 1963**

The heat was excruciating and the Summer Holidays had started in late May. Ponyboy had found the last few weeks especially hard and had been in and out of the hospital, suffering because of the hot weather. Sodapop knew that he didn't sleep much, but there wasn't anything that could be done about that. Ponyboy refused to take any sleeping pills, saying that it would make him vulnerable. The therapist that Ponyboy visited once a week had taken to advising their parents to not make Ponyboy do things he didn't want to do.

Ponyboy had started seeing a therapist after things had gotten particularly bad at home. He'd been sneaking out and not leaving notes, or coming home until the early hours of the morning. Another problem was that their parents had been too afraid to punish him for it. They'd gotten him to a therapist and, after a couple of weeks, the therapist had recommended letting Ponyboy have a little more freedom.

At first, their parents had been reluctant. However, after another incident where Ponyboy snuck out, they'd realized that they were doing exactly what Ponyboy's kidnapper had done. He'd come home, only to find that he was in a another prison and was beginning to hate them for it. Then again, these thoughts may have come around after they'd overheard him talking to Dally.

Ever since they began letting Ponyboy out, he'd begun telling them exactly where he was going, who he was going to be with and when he would get back home. Everyone found the compromise acceptable and they were all breathing easier.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Ponyboy sat in the lot near his house, with Soda, the gang and the Shepard's. He was smoking his third cigarette in a single hour, because there was nothing else to do. They'd played some football earlier, but Ponyboy'd had to stop, because of the heat. It had gotten easier to handle, but he was still adjusting. He was only wearing shorts and a t-shirt, with sandles today.

Everyone but Soda had paused when they saw him, because the scars along his arms and lower legs were on display, but they hadn't asked him anything about it. However, he had a feeling that wasn't going to last.

"... and knocked him out cold!"

Ponyboy laughed as Tim finished telling them about the bar fight he'd gotten into the other night. The other guy had evidently had it coming.

Curly turned to face Ponyboy, amidst the laughter, and asked, "What about you, Ponyboy? You have any stories about Alcatraz?"

Everything went quiet, with everyone looking between Ponyboy and Curly uncertainly. Even Tim Shepard, one of the toughest hoods on the East Side of Tulsa, was worried. Everyone had grown to understand that Ponyboy wasn't to be trifled with. The Socials, otherwise known as the Socs - the West Side rich kids - had learned that the hard way.

Robert "Bob" Sheldon, a Soc with a lot of rings on his hands, had tried to jump Ponyboy one of the first days that Ponyboy had been out of the house without his parents. Bob had considered Ponyboy an easy target, because of his size and stature. He was proven wrong. He'd barely gotten two words out, before he was on the floor, with a switchblade sticking out of his shoulder and a broken nose. No one had even seen Ponyboy move.

There had been other incidents, but they'd stopped after the last one, where Ponyboy had held his switchblade to a guys throat and threatened to cut him from ear to ear, without even blinking.

Ponyboy's face had come to mean danger. Even the gangs on the East Side were wary of him. He was an unknown. No one knew what he was capable of; no one knew what levels he would stoop to.

Ponyboy looked at Curly for a long second, before shrugging. "Maybe. What do you know about it?"

"Nothin' much. I know there was an escape, but that's all."

"_An_ escape?" Ponyboy chuckled, darkly. "Oh, there was more than one."

They all looked at Ponyboy, wanting to hear more.

"I arrived on Alcatraz just about two weeks after I was taken," Ponyboy told them, "and it was another few days before I was in the vents. Barely a week after that, every last prisoner on the island knew that I was there. You can't be on the Rock for more than a few days before learnin' to hate it. It was the security that was the worst part of it all. After 1946, there was a ten-year period where Alcatraz had its strictest and toughest security. There wasn't a single escape attempt durin' that time."

Dally leaned forward. "There were other escape attempts?"

Ponyboy nodded. "There were loads. In 1936, Joe Bowers was killed by a prison guard when he wouldn't stop climbin' a fence. There was another attempt in 1937. Roe and Cole are still missin' and everyone was still debatin' whether or not they'd made it, but I heard the officers saying that they didn't. In 1938, Lucas, Limerick and 'Whitey' Franklin killed an officer and tried to storm a tower. Limerick was killed and Franklin spent years in solitary. There was an incident when Lucas was found naked in a walk-in refrigeration unit with another con. After that, he became more famously known as 'Ice Box Annie'."

Chuckles ran through the group.

"The 'Doc' Barker-Henri Young escape attempt was the prison's fourth, in January 1939. It was the first time an attempt had taken place in the cell house. Barker, Young and three others had sawed through the bars in the five D block cells, which was the solitary confinement, then spread window bars and escaped down the hill. Barker was the only one who was fatally shot, while the others were returned alive. The only reason they were caught was because their cells were empty."

Looks were exchanged.

"Four cons were stopped before gettin' to the beach in May 1941. In September of the same year, John Richard Bayless, known as 'Jack Rabbit', tried to swim but turned around and swam back. He told everyone the bay was too cold to swim and, I'll tell you, it's the truth."

Looks were exchanged again.

"Four more guys tried in '43. One of them was fatally shot while in the bay. Floyd Hamilton, who was reported to be a buddy of Bonnie and Clyde, swam back to Alcatraz eventually. The officers thought he'd also been fatally shot, so they weren't searchin' for him. He's the only known con to have escaped back _into_ Alcatraz, comin' back in the same way he went out - up the cliff and through an industries window he'd used the night before."

Scattered laughter.

"In August of '43, one guy tied cans to his waist for buoyancy, but was caught before he could even jump into the bay. In July '45, a dockworker called John Giles tried to make an escape on a military launch. He'd been collecting an army uniform for months and he even impressed the officers with that scheme. He was photographed in the crinkled G.I. uniform when they brought him back and tried to cajole him but, as you can guess, he weren't laughing."

The gang was. It took a good few minutes for them to calm down.

"The last attempt before the prisons ten-year toughest security stint began was its worst; five guys dead was all it amounted to. The 1946 'battle' was the most notorious to date and the second attempt from the cell house. It was practically over the minute it began, but it took two days and five fatalities to regain the cell house. Two of the guys involved were sentenced to death by gas chamber at San Quentin. There were no more attempts after that for ten years - it was far too tight."

"What happened the next time there was an attempt?" Two-Bit asked.

Ponyboy lit up a cigarette. "In 1956, a con slipped away from the dock and hid in a crevice for several hours. He couldn't put together a driftwood float and was caught, but he broke the ten-year record. Two years after that, in July '58, Burgett and Johnson overpowered a guard, jumped into the water and tried to swim off the island. Johnson was intercepted, but Burgett washed up dead on San Francisco's shoreline two weeks later. I heard the officers sayin' that he probably died of hypothermia."

That sobered everyone.

"The June '62 attempt was the prisons most famous. Four guys were involved, but only three made it out - Morris and the Anglin Brothers. No one knows if they made it, but the case'll remain open until their found, or the hundred year mark passes. No bodies were found. From what I heard, they entered the bay at the exact worst moment, due to the undercurrents and such. In December '62, two more made an attempt. Parker was found one hundred yards from the main island, on a rock formation known as 'Little Alcatraz'. However, Scott reached Fort Point on the mainland, where he was found by teenagers, sufferin' from hypothermia. He recovered in the hospital and was returned to Alcatraz, but it's the only proven case of an inmate reaching the shore by swimmin'."

After that, everything fell silent. Ponyboy had given them all a lot to think about.

-x-x-x-x-x-

**June 12th, 1963**

After the knives had come out, Ponyboy should've beat it out of the Dingo, but he hadn't. A couple of the Brumly boys, alongside Sodapop, Steve, Two-Bit, Dally, Johnny, Tim and Curly were only feet from him, but the cops had focused on him. Though, it really wasn't a shock, when you considered what he'd done. Inwardly, he was smirking. The police were really too simple. This was the most entertainment he'd experienced in months.

The cop in front of him, Jackson, grabbed his shoulders and slammed him back into the wall. His head bashed against the wall and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his friends and associates begin to protest at the rough treatment, but they were shut up pretty quickly.

"Fuck you!" Ponyboy spat, after his head became clear again. He wasn't worried at the treatment - he'd gotten worse from the rats - but he didn't like this cop.

Jackson smirked. "Shut up, boy. You ain't gonna be this tough once we call your parents, telling them that you stole a watch from an innocent bystander during a knife fight."

Jackson held up a gold watch with his glove right hand, which he had taken from Ponyboy's pocket just seconds before slamming him into the wall. There was utter silence from Ponyboy's group of friends and associates as the watch was shown. Looking from the watch to Jackson's dark-eyed gaze, Ponyboy just snorted and rolled his eyes.

"What's your name?" Jackson asked, gripping Ponyboy's left shoulder even tighter.

Ponyboy just smiled, wryly, and didn't say anything. It wasn't surprising that very few of the police knew who he was; his parents had made sure that there wasn't a single picture of him in the paper, just like their government paid lawyers had.

"I'll find out, sooner or later," Jackson assured him. "If you want, I can take you downtown and you can spend the night in a cell -"

"Fine!" Ponyboy cut in, glaring. He wouldn't let his parents go through that - not having him in the house for a night, when he'd been missing for over eight years. He'd likely be more comfortable in a cell than at home, but his mother would have another panic attack, which had become rather frequent if he didn't keep to the schedule that they'd all come up with. He didn't care for her like she cared for him and he probably never would, but he owed her as the woman who'd birthed him. "I'm Ponyboy Curtis. If you want my phone number -"

Ponyboy almost stumbled when Jackson suddenly let go of him, with an expression of shock on his face.

"What did you say?" Jackson asked, his eyes wide. "Ponyboy Curtis? The Alcatraz Boy?"

Ponyboy nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the amount of eyes that were suddenly on him. He wasn't used to it.

Jackson crossed his arms, not looking away from Ponyboy. "That's interesting. We were about to come and see you when we got this call. Maybe we can come to as agreement."

Ponyboy's eyes narrowed, instantly and dangerously. "What kind of agreement?"

Another cop called Daniel Smith walked forward. "There are rumours going around, that you have a few favours _upstate_. Is that true?"

There was utter silence in the area around the Dingo. Everyone in the area - the police, the group of Ponyboy's friends, family and associates and even the hoods and JDs that had come to the Dingo to check out what was going on - looked at Ponyboy with varying degrees of shock and awe. Not many people in this area of Oklahoma had favours upstate if their names weren't Tim Shepard - and even Tim didn't have the kind of favours that would have cops knocking on his door.

Ponyboy stayed quiet for a second, considering his options. He'd never give anything up without knowing what was in it for him. He never had. "Maybe."

Smith scratched his chin, looking like he was contemplating something. "Maybe we can forget about this little ... _mishap_ ... from your side."

Ponyboy wasn't stupid; every favour came with a price. "What do you want from me?"

Jackson grinned and cut in. "Just a name."

Ponyboy shook his head. He'd earned a lot of respect in Alcatraz, due to the information he was likely to have. Even the blacks in Alcatraz had been easy to deal with - in a way. There had been a certain mutual respect between them, even though none of them had particularly liked each other. Ponyboy had been able to achieve their respect through his relationship with Bumpy Johnson - the man who had practically raised him. Bumpy had seen the opportunity and had taken it, and Ponyboy couldn't fault him for it.

"What kind of name?" Ponyboy asked, wanting to get all the information before he made a decision.

Smith lit up a cigarette. "This guy's been alluding cops in fourteen different states and there are rumours that Oklahoma is next. We need to catch this bastard."

Ponyboy chewed this over. His associates were beginning to expand and they'd gone further than Ponyboy had expected, all ready. However, that was only a base. He estimated that, within a year, he'd have a firm circulation of everything he needed, as long as the rate of expansion continued. Give it two years, his associates would be outside the country. He may not have the power that was currently necessary, but there were a lot of guys that currently owed him favours and he had contacts everywhere - including the one place that cops could never get to ...

Ponyboy looked Jackson in the eye. "I'll need more information than that."

"There's been a string of robberies," Smith told him, causing Ponyboy's gaze to shift to him, "involving the central bank in fourteen different states. Hundreds upon thousands of dollars have been stolen and haven't been recovered. There's always a different crew, but the same guy is the mastermind behind it. He's been alluding cops for two years now. The papers have nicknamed him -"

"The Brain," Ponyboy interrupted, already knowing what was going to be said. "I've heard and it ain't exactly inaccurate. He's slick enough that he doesn't leave a trail. Witnesses have said he's caucasian and possibly in his late twenties, or early thirties. He could have dark-brown or black hair. He has dark eyes, which causes speculation of mixed heritage somewhere in his family tree. A week after the robberies, the members of each crew that he uses turns up dead in various locations all over the area, within a twenty-mile radius of the bank - no hair, no fibres, no fingerprints. He plans ahead and he doesn't do anything without thinkin' it through. That information wasn't released to the public, which is a smart move. I'd say he has a high I.Q. and it's probably somewhere in the 140s." Ponyboy didn't care that people were giving him stunned looks. "I do my homework."

Everything was silent for a second. The cops were stunned at Ponyboy's speech; this boy was not unintelligent and parts of what he'd said were proof of his connections - deeper than they'd thought. Did he know people in the police department?

"Do you know the guy?" Jackson asked.

Ponyboy shook his head. "No, I don't know who he is. Although, he's stepped on a lot of important toes. No one's goin' to be upset to see him behind bars."

Smith snorted. "Texas was the last robbery and we think Oklahoma is next. He's rackin' up a lot of charges. He'll probably be given a death sentence."

Ponyboy nodded. "As I said, no one is goin' to be upset. A few of the people in his third, fifth, seventh and ninth crews were high-ranking members of gangs, a couple of mob members and ..." Ponyboy trailed off.

"What?" Jackson asked, knowing that if something had caused _this_ boy to hesitate, then it was worth being wary of.

Ponyboy licked his lips. "In his ninth crew, he asked a favour from a friend of a friend - at least, that's how I've heard it - and _borrowed_ the services of a high-rankin' organization member. Unfortunately, he choose the wrong organization to borrow someone from." Ponyboy's eyes scanned the police force. "He borrowed someone from the Yakuza."

All the police officers went a pasty white. They'd be lucky to find the Brain alive.

"Shit," someone from the back cursed.

Ponyboy didn't look over at the hoods, JDs and greasers. Very few of them would've heard of the Yakuza, but they'd know by the reactions of the fuzz that this was no laughing matter.

Ponyboy clucked his tongue. "If you're hopin' to catch this guy first, I'll need a lot of space. You guys can't be snoopin' around."

Jackson still looked like he was about to lose his lunch, but he shook it off and nodded. "We won't get in your way. We just want the name."

Ponyboy nodded. "Give me about a week. I should have somethin' by then, but I can't guarantee it'll be good news. The last I heard, the Yakuza were movin' closer and wanted blood."

_They won't catch this guy_, Ponyboy thought. _I've already be contacted by a friend of a friend in the Yakuza. They're out for blood and won't stop until they get it_.

"We'll see you in a week." Smith didn't look satisfied but, then again, neither did anyone else. The current mindset was that they'd be lucky to find a single piece of the guy.

Ponyboy turned and left, with his brothers, friends, some Brumly's, other hoods and various JDs following. All of them with the intent to find out more about these 'connections' of Ponyboy's upstate and how the hell he knew the information that he did. Ponyboy's reputation was about the take a definite upturn, if it hadn't already.

None of them were sure they wanted to know who the Yakuza were, though.

* * *

**Author's Note****:- I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It took a while to get out, but I needed to get this right. Please, let me know what you think and review.**

**Enjoy!**


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